


Six Johnlock Fluff Oneshots

by juniormiscellaneous



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-31
Updated: 2013-07-31
Packaged: 2017-12-22 00:44:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniormiscellaneous/pseuds/juniormiscellaneous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few bits of JohnLock fluff, in no particular order.<br/>>first post</p>
            </blockquote>





	Six Johnlock Fluff Oneshots

"Good morning, Mycroft." John said briskly as his flatmate's brother strolled into the living room swiftly.

"Is Sherlock around?" The man asked, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, where John was preparing breakfast.

"He's in bed."

Mycroft turned towards the detective's room, walking swiftly and opening the door without knocking.

"Sherlo-" Mycroft stopped short as he realized the bed was empty. "He's not in here!" The suited man returned to the kitchen. "Where did you say he is?"

John's cheeks blushed a furious pink.

"H-his shower wasn't working so he's using mine." John glanced up as Mycroft started towards the stairs. "I'll get him!"

Mycroft tried to protest, but John raced upstairs. What would he say, ' _Oh, Sherlock's bed wasn't working so he's using mine._ '?

"Wake up!" John whispered harshly.

"Why should I?" Sherlock groaned, his hair a mess as he rolled onto his back.

"Mycroft is here." At that, Sherlock rubbed his eyes and lazily sat up, the sheet barely covering his legs.

"Tell him to go away."

"Sherlock, you're in my  _bed_. _He's going to know_." Sherlock seemed to understand as he stood up, the covers falling to the bed. "Also, he thinks you're using my shower." John conceded guiltily as he led Sherlock to the restroom.

John started the shower as Sherlock waited, arms crossed over his chest.

"I don't see why you can't start the shower yourself." John commented, knowing it made no difference.

As Sherlock stepped into the water, John pulled him back. "Good morning." He whispered, kissing him softly.

Mycroft glanced up as he heard water running. He rolled his eyes at the flatmates; they were terrible liars, and perched himself on the couch.

* * *

The couple approached the crime scene, absentmindedly holding hands.

Lestrade glanced between the two at where the seemed to connect.

"Be careful, last time you two held hands Sherlock died." The man chuckled to himself.

"That obviously wasn't the most recent-" Sherlock started, but John squeezed his hand calmly. It didn't matter what the police thought, they were happy.

"Anderson, you owe me twenty pounds!" Donovan called out after she glanced at the pair.

Instinctively, Sherlock retracted his hand, analyzing the body carefully.

"Male," Sherlock whispered quietly.

"That's a woman," Anderson pointed out, "losing your magic touch?"

"The  _murderer_  is male, it's not the first time he's killed." Sherlock explained, standing up. "The victim was engaged but broke it off a few weeks ago. She's a natural redhead." He gestured to the blonde curls, "And she had been getting off work at a department store when she was attacked."

"How?" Donovan gawked, her face utter distrust.

"He's very precise, and strong; she wasn't killed here. You can see the remnants of a tanline on her left ring finger, her roots need touched up, and she's wearing a basic uniform. The black uniform; no label, all black, means either a restaurant or a department store. If she was a waitress her arms might be more muscular, and she smells of a mixture of perfumes because people at the store spray the fragrances to test them and she picked some up in passing." Sherlock explained, returning to his spot; standing next to John.

The taller man slipped his hand back inside the doctor's as they walked down the sidewalk, towards Baker street.

"This way." Sherlock tugged John down another road.

"Where are we going?"

"I knew you'd be hungry, so I made reservations." Sherlock explained.

"You're so thoughtful." John gushed, pushing himself on his tiptoes and kissing the cheek of the tall man.

* * *

"Who's this?" John cooed as Molly pushed a stroller into the morgue.

"My second cousin! Her name's Winnie." Molly locked the stroller in place, sitting in a corner.

"Seven months?" Sherlock asked after glancing towards the infant.

"Just about! I have her for the day so her mum can get some rest!" Molly explained as she rolled the sleeves up on her lab coat.

"She's spending the day in _here_?" Sherlock asked, ignoring John's prying glance.

"I was _supposed_ to get the day off." Molly groaned.

 

"Make her  _stop_!" Sherlock pleaded as he focused on a microscope.

"She just won't!" Molly sounded exasperated, so John came to her assistance, but he was no help.

Sherlock muttered something under his breath and delicately took the baby from John, swaying back and forth.

"There you go, Winnie." Sherlock spoke in his normal, deep voice.

"How did you?" Molly's jaw dropped.

 

John and Sherlock walked out of the morgue after collecting the data they needed.

"You were great with Winnie." John complimented, smiling at his boyfriend.

"Babies are simple."

"Maybe we should have one." John giggled.

"John, the work-"

"The work is most important, I know, believe me,  _I know_." John took a deep breath as they exited the building into the cool winter air.

"Babies are... cute." Sherlock practically flinched as he admitted that. "And, John," He took the detective's hand and stopped to face him. "There is  _one_ thing more important than work."

The detective kissed the blonde lightly, pulling him in for a hug.

"I love you, John."

John's heart caught in his throat, and he had to take a deep breath before he responded, "I love  _you."_

* * *

_  
_"Goodnight, John." Sherlock whispered as he crawled out of his flatmate's bed, maneuvering to his own room.

The same thing the next night.

And the next night.

"What if I go to your bed?" John suggested, sitting up as Sherlock did.

"That's alright, love." Sherlock left, once again, as the moon rose high in the sky.

John woke up in the wee hours of the morning, checking the clock and groaning.

He lay still, staring at the ceiling, imaginging what the stars look like out of the city.

He was about to drift back to sleep whe he heard soft whimpering.

Worried, the doctor adorned his robe, creaking down the stairs.

"Sherlock?" John called out nervously, opening the bedroom door.

The detective was curled around himself, the blankets had fallen off the bed, and his face was covered in anguish.

John wordlessly climbed in bed behing Sherlock, pulling the sheets around them both. He slung an arm around the sleuth comfortably, whispering, "It's okay, Sherlock."

When the doctor awoke, Sherlock's limbs were tangled in his, his curls tucked in John's neck.

They decided to stay in bed that day.

* * *

John Watson and Sherlock Holmes strolled down the sidewalk that morning in early May.

While passing a quiet alley, they heard a soft mewl.

Both men stopped to glace down the path, the alley seemed baren exempt a few dumpsters.

"What was that?" John whispered as Sherlock cautiously ventured down the alley.

Sherlock didn't respond until he bent down behind one of the large dumpsters, and scooped the animal up.

"It's a kitten!"

"Don't touch it, Sherlock! It might be infected."

"It's just hungry." Sherlock countered, petting the small cat. "Can we keep it?"

"I don't know," John sounded hesitant, but he was smiling at the feline.

"Pretty please?"

"I guess so!" John gave in without much persuasion.

"C'mon!" Sherlock smiled, kissed his boyfriend on the cheek and took his hand, leading him down the street the way they had come.

"Where are we going?"

"I saw a pet shop down here!"

 

They marched into their flat; Sherlock calling out for Mrs. Hudson, to share the good news; John carrying many bags of cat supplies.

After all the purchases were unpacked and the kitten was sleeping on John's lap, they started discussing names.

"Cuddles." John suggested jokingly.

"Margaret." Sherlock said decidedly.

"Crookshanks!" John said, chuckling.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Pepper." Sherlock crossed his legs on the couch.

"Edith!" John blurted out.

"That's perfect!" Sherlock pet the newly named cat.

"Really?"

Sherlock nodded, his dark curls bobbing.

"Edith it is."

* * *

"You  _need_ to read this." John advised, handing Sherlock a copy of the book he recently finished.

"I  _need_  food once in a while, I do not  _need_ to read that."

"Okay, Mr. Literal, but I really think you should." John kissed Sherlock softly before he left for work.

Sherlock sighed, picking up the book and setting down the evidence he was examining.

He began to read, skipping over seemigly boring parts, vocalizing his predictions to himself.

After about forty pages, a scrap of paper fell from the book.

John had been using it as a bookmark, but it had scribbles of writing on it.

_I love you, Sh_

The rest of the message was ripped off, leaving Sherlock to deduce that the message wasn't meant for his eyes.

I read the note. -SH

Huh? -JW

The note you left in the book. -SH

You're reading the book! -JW

That's not the point; the point is that... well I think you know, but I feel the same way. -SH

You feel? What is this about? -JW

Oh. THAT note. -JW

I love you. -SH

I love you too. -JW

Sherlock relaxed triumphantly, and finished the book.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is welcomed!


End file.
